Page 56 of Death’s Kiss (The Order of the Tide Raiders #1)
Level Three
M y arms wrap themselves across my chest in practiced indifference.
I stand slanted against the wall opposite the dim entrance leading to our Grand Preceptor’s quarters.
The sound of Preceptor Raith’s raised words is met with the chilling calm of Skelm’s.
Both voices tumble through the closed doors like ships in a storm, reaching where I batten down in a show of nonchalance.
Truthfully, my entire body is still sore from the last disciplinary meeting held on my behalf. My muscles are currently spasming quite painfully. Clenching my jaw tightly against the aches, I fist my hands beneath my arms to stop their visible tremors.
I refuse to let that one-eyed bastard see me cry again.
“That girl is a godsdamned menace! This is the fifth fight she’s started this year already. Clearly, whatever discipline she’s been given isn’t nearly enough. I’ve said it before, Hymir—we need to seriously look at putting her down!”
I can't contain my flinch. My teeth lock together in poorly concealed outrage. They’re actually discussing killing me in there. Putting me down like I’m some sort of ill-behaved beast.
The overheard discussion shouldn’t be so unnerving. I should be used to this way of life, accustomed to just how little I mean to The Order. My attention shifts to the white Raider brand peeking out from around my wrist. The one that assures them I’m every bit as worthless as they believe me to be.
As I now frequently find, an untethered rage begins filling me from deep inside. It sometimes keeps me up at night with its gluttonous wrath and desperate need for violence. That rage drives me to lash out at anyone and everyone who dares to come near.
Someone swears low in response to Preceptor Raith’s words, snatching my attention back.
I discover intolerable brown eyes gazing at me. My nostrils flare while my mouth turns into an unsavory frown. “What do you want?” I practically spit at the girl who has exasperated and frayed every last nerve of mine in the span of little more than two years.
Raider Hiraeth.
Even the thought of her name leaves a sour taste in my mouth. She looks slightly startled by my venom, but there’s something in the twitch of her cupid's bow that leads me to believe she finds my acidic attitude amusing. I hold in a groan.
That is perhaps what annoys me most about this girl in particular.
My eyes narrow on her, where she stands just a few meters down from me, in irritation. There is a bruise along her cheekbone and a bloody gash that’s begun crusting the side of her chin that matches up exactly with the torn skin along my damningly crimson knuckles .
“I’m here to speak with the Grand Preceptor,” Raider Hiraeth replies with aggravating calm.
As if we weren’t just in a full-out brawl within the last hour.
I don’t allow my voice to allude to even an ounce of the fear that’s been eating me alive since Preceptor Raith dragged me up here.
“Why? You going to go in there and second Raith’s request to have me executed?
Go ahead . I’m sure our level—the whole North Order, actually—would praise you for it.
Maybe one day they’ll make you captain . ”
To her credit, Hiraeth doesn’t so much as blink at my hate-filled words.
A small trail of still flowing blood on her chin, left over from my fist, drops down to the dark wood-stained floors. Shame kicks me so sharp and low that I’m forced to turn my face away from hers and instead look over towards the other end of the hall.
It hadn’t been her fault today. Not really. Today just happened to be an awful morning, spilling over from a previously terrible day, overflowing from a particularly miserable fucking week.
The crime she committed was, admittedly, innocent enough.
All the girl did was ask about my affinity mark, but it had been in the presence of Vash Larceon and his overly eager lackeys. The former of which, by the way, she is agonizingly enamored with.
My second personal strike against Hiraeth.
Even after surviving the first two levels, Larceon, along with most of our peers, still looks at me like something they’re all longing to watch get torn apart.
Therefore, I have to make sure they all know the consequences of fucking with me.
I have to remind them of exactly what prowls beneath my skin every single day of my continued existence in this hellhole.
Maybe I should be put down like the feral beast I’m turning out to be.
I catch Raider Hiraeth watching me again, and I glare until she looks away. The voices in Skelm’s office have lowered, so neither of us can hear what’s being said. A few moments later, the wooden doors are flung open, with Preceptor Raith storming out in an angry flurry of navy.
My gaze ekes back over to the open entrance and the hearth that has begun flickering to life beyond it. I wince internally at the sight of those flames, knowing full well exactly what I'm about to endure. Exhaling the last of my nerves, I push off from my stance along the wall.
To my surprise, Raider Hiraeth slips into the daunting quarters just before myself. My brows crease while following her. Once inside, my attention flits almost immediately to the windows. Ah . My stomach anchors down deep upon finding them tightly shut.
Skelm sits behind his vast oaken desk; the shine of his golden patch is brighter with the awful dancing light from his inferno so near. My entire body tenses up as his dark eye narrows in on me, then slides down to my torn knuckles and across the damning blood-splattered shirt.
Only the talent for pure willfulness keeps my shoulders from sagging and my chin from wavering.
Focusing on my steps, I come to stand beside Raider Hiraeth, and we both dutifully wait for the Grand Preceptor to address us. I have a difficult time not fidgeting around him. A habit that, as I have recently learned from the healing fracture along my humerus, is absolutely not tolerated.
“Raider Boreas,” Grand Preceptor Skelm says before leaning forward in his chair with a deep frown. “After your very recent punishment with Preceptor Ersatz, I thought you were grasping The Order and your place in it.”
I fight the instinct to snap at Skelm’s words. His calm intonation is so much worse than outright yelling, and it sends a flood of terror down my spine. All of my affinity's strength is barely enough to keep me from sprinting out of the room.
But then again, where would I go?
“Not only have you disrupted your peers' instruction, yet again, I might add. Now you’ve cost me a weapons master as well." His voice remains steady, but his words come out with a keen edge .
Lightheadedness crashes over me when coming to understand Raith's departure. For a moment, I struggle to track down any coherent thoughts beyond my trepidation and pressing panic.
Preceptor Raith has just—
He's—
I made him quit .
Soothing ice begins to cool over the slick sweat lining my palms and face in an effort to calm me down like some sort of mothering hen. It doesn’t stop the dread from pooling down inside. I couldn’t form words even if it was my turn to speak. Which, from the look in Skelm’s eye, it is not .
“Preceptor Raith did, however, make a good point before informing me of his acceptance into the ranks of TideLord Nero. You may not be worth the trouble you've caused here, Raider Boreas. Elemental or not,” Skelm says in that unnatural calm.
My chin dips incrementally.
I study the top of the report-strewn desk, the gold leviathan wrapping around Skelm's finger, anything other than his piercing gaze. There’s a hollowness blooming in my chest that swiftly travels out to my limbs while comprehending where this conversation is inevitably going to end.
Retreating to a place deep inside myself, I barely even hear the Grand Preceptor. “Honestly, I’m inclined to believe Preceptor Raith. If this last incident is any indication, I’d say we should return you to the Netherdepths this very evening.”
Cold internal walls slam down and lock tight to protect me in my reserve. Soon, I've zoned so far out from his morbid lecture that I almost miss Raider Hiraeth's unexpected outburst entirely.
“It wasn’t her fault!” She snaps loudly, her face turning a deep scarlet. I damn near jump out of my own skin with how alarmingly adamant her voice is. At Skelm’s disgruntled look, she adds a quiet, “Sir. ”
His single, beady eye roves quietly between the two of us before inquiring, “Explain then, Raider Hiraeth. What exactly occurred between the two of you today?”
Sucking on a tooth is the only way to avoid grimacing. I’m still too far removed to even consider intervening.
“It was my fault.”
My mouth drops open slightly at that and I swiftly close it again. I glance over in time to watch Hiraeth’s face harden before lifting her chin at the Grand Preceptor. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the look on her face was that of a challenge.
How badly did I hit her?
Is it possible my fist disconnected something critical in her brain? Skelm scrutinizes the girl with equal disbelief, both at Hiraeth's unyielding expression and the firmness of her words.
“It’s true, I provoked her," she falsely states. “I claimed her affinity was Vek to the rest of our level. Raider Boreas is elemental; she had no choice but to defend that. She challenged me, but I don’t think Preceptor Raith was paying any attention to us until after we’d already begun.”
I work hard not to let my jaw hang open as she outright lies to the Grand Preceptor of the Cardinal North. Raider Hiraeth had claimed no such thing. No one in our level was that stupid, and I certainly was not honorable enough to challenge her.
Why is she lying for me? What could she possibly hope to gain out of this?
Skelm shifts back in his seat, his hands coming to lace themselves together as he weighs out his options. “Raider Boreas, do you confirm that this is the truth?”
Blinking away my shock, I give him a tight nod. I don’t dare speak should my voice betray me.